


The Missing D I

by eliza_doolittlethings



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Original Character(s), Sherstrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:53:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24131638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliza_doolittlethings/pseuds/eliza_doolittlethings
Summary: Greg Lestrade is bored of his routine, when the introduction of 'bicycled policing' intrigues him. His exploring the idea leads him further than he had imagined ..
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The story is supposed to be set in Scotland. I apologise for inconsistencies. Having trouble with making time to do proper research, I have written whatever struck me as apt. Please imagine the story as it is, a fiction based on fictitious characters and places. :)
> 
> It has not been beta read, so, do forgive my style of writing ..

####  **Scene 1**

Greg held the pamphlet - [ Watchmen in England ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Watchman_\(law_enforcement\))

in his left hand while swivelling in his office chair. The introduction of bicycled policemen to speed up the patrolling.

[ ](https://www.oldpolicecellsmuseum.org.uk/content/history/local-historians-history/david-rowland/hello-hello-hello/hello_hello_hello)

“Bobbies!” he read out loud and scoffed.

Sighing, the DI threw the pamphlet on his desk, rose and walked out of the office, calling, “Sally!”

“Sir,” she responded, eyes glued to the computer.

“Where are the new recruits?”

“Room 12,” she said, not taking her eyes off the screen.

“Move your arse!” the DI ordered as he sashayed his way to a room full of newbies.

* * *

####  **Scene 2**

_[that evening]_

Parking the car outside his apartment, Greg looked out the window. His apartment didn’t look appealing at all. Hands still holding the steering wheel he licked his lips thoughtfully eyes straight ahead. Watching a man borrow a bicycle from the corner shop, Greg let out a “psht,” as he breathed out air through his tight lips, lower lip caught between his teeth.

A glint of excitement flashed in his brown eyes as they narrowed thoughtfully.

In a couple of minutes the DI was out of the shop on a cycle of his choosing wearing one of those helmets that looked like a toy.

* * *

####  **Scene 3**

Habit grew into a routine as the stress at home and work grew. Within the week Greg rented the cycle for six months in advance. It felt like a good thing. Better than the treadmill or simply jogging aimlessly!

Also, it helped reduce his need for a smoke or a drink considerably.

That weekend, as he rode through xxx, he got a call. Ignoring the buzz in his pant pocket, Greg pushed himself harder. Riding for more than an hour, he reached the harbour point to Scotland - [Isle of Mann , Castletown]

Taking a sip from his bottle he glanced at the time. It was early. Just past 3 in the evening. The boat was about to leave. Making a quick decision he rode to the ticket counter and rushed aboard.

Parking the bike close to the rails Greg rested his elbows on it and closed his eyes, enjoying the cold air that graced his cheeks, flushed red and hot from all the cycling.

Removing his helmet, the DI breathed deep and licked his dry lips. The afternoon was cloudy but the waves were calm. Hanging his head to let the breeze blow down his sweaty neck, Greg listened to his pulse slow down, in rhythm with the waves lapping by the side of the boat.

It was a relief to feel free, unburdened, away from the bustle of town.

As the ship docked he climbed onto the cycle and shot out before the others. Parking by the closest shop, he bought a map and a few chocolate bars.

* * *

####  **Scene 4**

Munching on one of the bars he studied the map and deciding on a route took to the road.

Passing through lanes and out into the open country, he cycled uphill and saw a Church looming in the background when the sky opened suddenly, drenching him.

Cursing and swearing Greg peddled fast and getting off the bike opened the gate and wheeled the cycle in. Resting it on the outer wall, he hugged himself and dashed up the steps.

Opening the door, he said “Hello” and waited. It looked empty. Hesitating for a moment, {the man} dripping water all over the floor, he walked in, looking around.

Licking his lips and wondering if he should leave, Greg shut his eyes on hearing a peal of thunder. That was decided, he thought, looking up at the altar.

A door opened and closed somewhere in the heart of the Church. Feeling like a boy caught watching porn, Greg searched for a place to hide but was arrested by the voice, “Hello.”

Turning around he stared at the woman who was approaching him from the altar.

“Hi,” he replied nervously, wiping his forehead and moving his hand over his hair when he realised that he still had the helmet on.

“Fuck,” he muttered trying to undo the clasp with cold fingers. “The rain,” he continued while fiddling with the straps when he looked up on hearing, “May I?”

With a polite smile the woman walked closer and in one press removed the object.

“Thank you. The rain. I was caught off guard,” Greg apologised and then said, “Damn!” as his finger got caught in the clasp. Immediately following it with, “Sorry,” not daring to look her in the eye.

“That’s fine. I believe it is not God who is offended by words, but his representatives.” Smiling, she took the helmet and buckled it. Handing it over to him she said, “There. Would you like a cup of tea? Or something stronger?”

* * *

####  **Scene 5**

Greg was seated by a cozy fire, in his shirt sleeves, his jacket and socks hanging on a rack close to the fire. Legs stretched, bare feet rubbing against each other, he watched his host make tea.

She introduced herself as reverend Lucy, the pastor of the church. She had been curious about him, his presence in a small town like xxx.

She had also mentioned that a storm had swept over the whole coast and weather reports had said that it would last for a couple of days. The boats were not plying and he had no way back to the mainland from the looks of it.

But that didn’t bother him so much as the woman who was so at ease in such a profession.

“You’re probably wondering what made me become a priest,”she said while placing his cup in front of him.

Seating herself opposite him she smiled and asked, “Have you a place to stay?”

Greg raised his eyebrows in wonder and said, “Hadn’t thought of that.”

“Well, I have a room that you can use if you want. It was my late husband’s.”

Eyes wide in alarm Greg stared at her.

“It is not heresy,” Lucy laughed as she spoke, her whole face glowing from delight.

“Oh no, I mean,” Greg smiled shyly and said, “I was taken by surprise, that’s all.”

“You will have to cycle at least 5 miles to the nearest inn. And the rain’s not letting down from the looks of it,” she added.

“Hm,” Greg responded.

“Have your tea,” she said and rose.

“Um,” he paused, then asked, “May I ask how your husband died?”

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Detective finally gets to the Inspector!

####  **Scene 6**

“He is not dead,” Lucy said, her face sad, voice bland. Then seeing Lestrade's surprised look added, “Not officially. Just ‘Lost at sea’.”

Sighing, she closed her eyes and continued, “It’s been 3 yrs now.”

“I’m sorry,” Lestrade remorsefully replied, ruffling his hair.

“Why do people say that?!” Lucy exclaimed. “Of course I know why. But, it doesn’t mean much to the person, does it? Especially when you have no clue what the loss means to them!”

Lestrade sat back gripping the armrest and licking his lips upon hearing the unexpected outburst.

“Don’t be scared,” Lucy said, that warm smile returning to her pale face, her brown hair glistening in the light of the fire. “I’m supposed to know how to comfort mourners. It baffles me every time! How can they feel consoled? That too by a stranger!”

“I understand. It can be pretty annoying. Unless of course you know the person intimately. Even then words sound pretentious.”

* * *

####  **Scene 7**

As Lestrade settled in for the night he wondered if he should inform Sally of his whereabouts. But it was the weekend and he was not expected. Taking his phone from his jacket, he realised that the battery had died. And he had no charger. There wasn’t any in the room. Sighing, he left it on the nightstand and huddled under the cold sheets.

The smell of fresh coffee and eggs woke him up.

It was dark outside. Turning to his side, Lestrade listened to the rain pounding on the window pane and slipped back to sleep. a knock on the door made him answer mechanically, “Yes?”

Lucy opened the door and a few seconds later entered with a breakfast tray.

Half asleep and groggy Lestrade raised himself on his elbow, the covers slipping, revealing his bare chest. Feeling the sudden cold he pulled back the covers and eyed her.

“Good morning! Breakfast in bed,” she smiled and said. Then asked, “slept well?”

“Hmm,” Lestrade replied with a grimace.

“Not a morning person I see,” she walked to the door, then turned and said, “The heater is not working in the common bath. Tell me when you want to shower. You shall have to use mine.” And she closed the door.

* * *

####  **Scene 8**

Half an hour later Lestrade appeared in the kitchen with the empty tray. He placed it near the sink when Lucy spoke from the dining, “Leave it. Martha will be here soon to do the dishes and cleaning.”

Lestrade looked around at the small tidy kitchen wondering what he could do.

“You can take a walk. The rain has bated a little.”

The voice floated over.

Smiling, he looked down at his clothes. He had left them in the bath last night. It was in the same place this morning, washed dried and pressed.

Ruffling his hair Lestrade took a deep breath and walked into the dining.

“Contacted your folks? The weather report is bad.” Lucy stood next to a bowl of peas placed on the small square dining table.

“Actually,” Lestrade rolled his tongue over his lower lip and asked, “Could I have a charger?”

“Of course! You’ll find one next to the telephone; below the stairs.” 

“Thank you,” he managed out and hurried to plug his phone.

“Take the umbrella,” she shouted out.

Lestrade looked around, saw it hanging on a hook and called back, “I’ll be back soon.”

* * *

####  **Scene 9**

The walk was invigorating. The slight drizzle and fresh air cleared his head. As he neared the inn, Lestrade was of half a mind to walk past. But the cold made him long for a drink.

The place looked deserted from the outside. Turning the corner, he heard loud arguments and on reaching the entrance saw a truck parked outside. 

Walking around, he cautiously entered the doorway when he was greeted by, “There you are! These folks are pretty secretive about their guests.”

* * *

####  **Scene 10**

“What the bloody Hell are you doing here?!”

After a pint Lestrade made his excuses and forced Sherlock out of the inn, starting his interrogation.

Sherlock walked on morosely, hands deep in his coat pockets.

“You better answer me,” Lestrade threatened, clearly furious.

[“Aren’t YOU forgetting something?” the Detective asked sarcastically.]

The rain had renewed with force and large drops were soaking them.

“Damn! The umbrella,” Lestrade muttered. Suddenly narrowing his eyes asked, “Did Mycroft send you? Is that it?” pulling the Detective’s arm forcefully.

Slipping in the slush he fell backwards onto the hedge along the road. Moving like a cat Sherlock caught him but lost his footing as his shoes soaked up the rain and mud. Both tumbled together into the shrubbery that acted as a cushion.

“Ow, my back,” Lestrade mumbled, Sherlock sprawled over him, icy blue eyes staring into dark brown ones.

Lestrade stared back, then asked, “You okay?” with concern.

Eyes widened, Sherlock jumped up, dusting his wet coat as Lestrade struggled to rise.

“Could you give me a hand?” the DI asked exasperatedly.

“Oh,” Sherlock reacted uneasily, then pulled him up and walked away pulling up his coat collar.

“I’ll get the umbrella,” Lestrade grumbled as he walked back to the inn.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, but AO3 is not saving drafts and I am struggling with the net ..  
> And, I've been wanting to portray GL as Lestrade [Sherlock's view of the DI ...]  
> Not sure if it is working .....
> 
> As for my other work - 'falling in love', it's written, almost. Just needs editing. Hope to post soon!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg is frustrated with the Detective's presence and confronts him ..

####  **Scene 11**

Sherlock refused to get under it and walked aloof all the way to the chapel.

Greg was in no mood to placate him and knowing Sherlock realised he would never get a straight answer as to the Detective’s sudden presence in a remote village in Scotland!

How the Hell did he get here, Greg wondered, and in this weather!?

Opening his mouth to ask just that, he was stopped by the Detective who raised his finger to his lips and took cover behind the hedge close to the chapel.

* * *

Greg crouched next to the Detective and asked, “What?”

Sherlock shook his head and waited.

All Greg could hear was the rain pounding on the shrubbery and mud. Then he heard a faint indistinct yell [muffled shout] and rose reflexively.

Sherlock pulled him down and crouched his way to the back of the chapel disappearing through the hedge. Rushing behind him Greg reached the door to the rectory and signalled for the Detective to wait, who cat-like crossed across the ajar door and vanished.

Biting his lower lip in consternation Greg followed inside and stood for a moment to get his bearings when a scream from the floor above made him dash up the stairs recklessly.

The sight made him dumbstruck.

* * *

####  **Scene 12**

Greg stared at the tableau inside Lucy’s bedroom unsure of the situation.

Sherlock stood sedately to a side, hands on either side of him looking very innocent.

Lucy stood next to the window glued to a stranger.

Or was it a stranger?

Sherlock was the first to speak, “Sherlock Holmes,” he said, while extending his hand to Lucy, who meekly replied, "Lucy Seward."

Greg looked awkwardly at the couple, then moved forward, “Greg Lestrade,” offering his hand.

“Pat Seward,” the man answered, shaking the extended hand, not releasing Lucy who had tried to move away.

* * *

Half an hour later the four of them joked about it over tea and biscuits in the kitchen below.

Misunderstanding averted, Lucy being rejoined with her lost husband, Sherlock decided to stay on the Island which surprised Greg. The Detective was never one to settle for something ordinary. There had to be a case or mystery that intrigued him, Greg thought.

As the weather cleared a little the next day Greg tried to find someone who’d be willing to brave the elements the way Patrick did in order to get home. Sherlock was against it. He made it sound like it was fluke he got to be aboard Patrick’s boat. He even swore that he’d rather wait for the weather to clear than take the risk again.

What made Greg more suspicious was the fact that Sherlock never left his side. Whether he took a walk, visited the inn or even cycled!

* * *

####  **Scene 13**

Tired of the cloak and dagger, on the second night Greg knocked on Sherlock’s door. He had been given what was supposed to be a nursery - a pull out bed squeezed in. No reply, he opened the door and stared into the darkness. Sherlock’s silhouette was visible from the light streaming from the corridor. He lay perfectly still, elbows jutting out, hands below his head.

Closing the door softly, Greg moved in and called out, “Ow!” his knee hitting on something hard.

“Careful, the whole room is ‘baby trapped’,” Sherlock mocked from his reclining posture.

“We need to talk,” Greg said, a little gruffly.

“I am not hiding nor am I on a case. Why are _you_ here? That's the question that needs to be addressed,” the Detective replied.

“I simply took a ride on my bike and went a bit too far,” Greg said while groping in the dark. “Move over,” he said on reaching the edge of the bed.

“Me too,” Sherlock answered.

“Don’t mock me!” Greg said, with suppressed anger, spittle landing on the hand of the Detective that was resting on his folded thigh, the one that Greg was resting on.

“You are nervous,” Sherlock remarked, curious.

“I am uneasy,” Greg corrected him.

“I have no ulterior motive,” The Detective spelled out.

“You Never settle for a quiet life,” Greg pointed out.

“I feel the need to rest my brain,” Sherlock explained, then added, “Besides, Patrick has been teaching me about beekeeping!”

Sherlock's enthusiasm looked feigned.

Narrowing his eyes the Inspector looked at his face, his eyes now having adjusted to the dark.

“Then why are you following me?” he asked almost in a whisper, not understanding, yet unsure if he wanted to.

Sherlock raised himself on his elbow, touched Greg’s elbow and spoke, “I am keeping an eye on you.”

The Inspector stared at him, sensing a vulnerability in the darkness.

* * *

####  **Scene 14**

Greg realised he had leaned forward and was so close to the Detective, he could feel his warm breath.

“What are you on about?” he asked as his eyes moved down to those lips parted as if in anticipation. Involuntarily he licked his lips and swallowed hard.

“Mycroft thinks you are not to be trusted alone,” Sherlock whispered, his eyes following the Inspector’s tongue.

“What?” Greg asked, breathing hard, not understanding what was happening but refusing to be the one to back down first.

“He thinks you have lost your marbles, putting up with that crazy wife of yours.” Sherlock sat straight while whispering, his thigh rubbing against Greg’s back.

“What has that got to do with you following me? You think I’m suicidal?” he asked huskily.

“I am saying you are lost. And if I had not reached, you would be in bed with that pastor right this minute,” Sherlock spoke softly, his voice a whisper, his breath coming out in warm whiffs.

“I,” Greg swallowed, his mouth dry as saw dust, then said, “Aren’t you being a bit presumptuous? The lady has a husband, not to mention is a priest. And, he would have reached here with or without you.”

He sighed and leaned forward, feeling bone tired.

Sherlock caught the Inspector’s shoulder as he rested his head against the Detective’s cheek, and said, “You should be in bed.”

Unsure of how to proceed, his fingers gently kneaded Greg’s shoulders, who moved his arms around Sherlock's waist saying, “Just one more minute.”

* * *

####  **Scene 15**

“Why ARE you here?” Greg asked in a pleading tone as his fingers dug deep into the tucked in part of Sherlock’s shirt.

“I was bored,” he replied, as the Detective’s hand slowly moved up from Greg’s shoulder to his neck. Pressing his forehead hard into Sherlock’s face, his warm breath racing, the Inspector shifted closer still.

“I have not done this before,” Sherlock stuttered unsure of how to proceed.

Greg made to move away, as if scorched, [muttering, “That was pretty ‘obvious’] but Sherlock didn’t let go, instead pulling him close.

“What do I do?” he asked plainly, while holding the Inspector’s face in his palms, his long fingers gently caressing wet cheeks, gazing down to lips that were glistening from saliva.

“Do you WANT this?” Greg whispered, more curious than anxious.

Sherlock closed the gap attempting a kiss, got the angle wrong, bumping their noses and withdrew in haste.

Chuckling, Greg pulled him into an embrace. With his left hand, Greg steadied the Detective’s neck, his thumb rubbing along the jawline and kissed him gently, lips closed.

Sherlock did not move or breathe, hands that were holding onto Greg’s shoulders perfectly still as if afraid it would spoil the moment.

Pressing his lips, Greg slowly parted them, the tip of his tongue gently moving along the Detective's sealed lips.

A muted sound erupted from Sherlock, who pushed his chest forward, his mouth opening involuntarily and breathed in sharply.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Total Scenes are 30, so three more instalments ..  
> Hope to post weekly, depending on the net ..


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up, setting fire to .. almost everything, but sizzles out.

####  **Scene 16**

“Let us take it slowly,” Greg murmured against Sherlock’s parted lips as he ran his hands along the Detective’s waist, slowly pulling out the tucked shirt end and exploring the exposed skin.

“Mhm,” Sherlock mumbled, as his lips hovered above Greg’s.

A sudden crack of lightning was followed by thunder, and the lights went out in the corridor, plunging the room into darkness. The Inspector was engrossed in getting comfortable, gently pushing Sherlock backwards onto the bed, moving to join him when the Detective muttered, “Something is on fire.”

“What?” Greg whispered, his lips rubbing against the chiselled jaw down to just below Sherlock’s ear all the way down to the junction of his neck and shoulder.

“It has to be the tool shed,” Sherlock answered automatically, arching back, the shirt stretching across his chest.

“It’s my bloody loins,” Greg chuckled as he undid the first button, exposing the neck a bit more and sucking hard at a mole he had never noticed before.

“What!!?” Greg jumped up from his reclining position over the Detective and looked out of the window into the darkness, the rain making the view blurry.

“We have more important matters to deal with,” Sherlock spoke seductively, raising himself between Greg’s hands that were planted on the bed, snogging him hard.

Lost for a moment in the kiss, Greg moved into the embrace as Sherlock enclosed him in his arms. Responding heatedly, his palms moving under the Detective’s shirt, kissing him deep, his tongue searching and finding Sherlock's, making him moan indecently.

Greg pulled away on hearing a commotion.

“They will need help,” Greg panted out, trying to gather his thoughts.

“IT is raining cats and dogs. Nature will take care of it,” Sherlock murmured against Greg’s lips, licking the lower lip that jutted out and kissing along the jaw to Greg’s ear lobe, sucking on it.

The Inspector took control, pushing Sherlock back on the bed and aligning his body over the Detective’s, holding his hands above his head while assaulting his lips.

* * *

####  **Scene 17**

Shouts floated up to the nursery as the darkness was dispelled by a bright glow.

Greg rose for a second time and stared wide-eyed out the window, mind still hazy from the intoxication of attentive lips. Resting his head on the Detective’s chest he gathered his thoughts and said, “They will come looking. I have to go,” he pecked the swollen lower lip of the Detective and pushing himself away said, “We can continue later, after they are in bed,” looking at the pale exposed chest that was heaving hard, wondering when he’d unbuttoned them, smiling at the memory of the skin beneath his fingers.

Kissing the middle of the Detective’s chest he rubbed his nose and breathed deep and rose, the old cot creaking under their weight. 

Taking a glance at the splayed body of the Detective, noting the ruby red lips and pale chest, Greg gave him one brief snog and was out of the room in a hurry.

After hours of labour they were able to put out the fire and restore electricity to the main house.

The rain had settled to a drizzle, thunder having shifted out to sea.

Refusing a drink, Greg feigned exhaustion and trudged up the stairs straight to the nursery only to find the door ajar and the bed empty in the darkened room.

He rushed to his bedroom with high hopes and switched on the lights. 

* * *

####  **Scene 18**

Greg stood looking at the empty bed. What was he expecting? That the Detective would be waiting? Sighing the Inspector licked his lips and made to sit on the bed, running his hand through his hair.

Sherlock’s probably gone. But where, how? His thoughts made him restless. Instead of sitting down he took to the stairs and rushed to the kitchen.

Lucy and Patrick were having their night cap.

“Have you seen Sherlock?” he asked them, standing by the door, hands holding onto the casing.

“No, why? What’s wrong?” Lucy asked first, rising up.

“He’s gone,” Greg hastily replied, ruffling his hair again, feeling lost.

“He can’t have gone far,” Patrick said, walking towards Greg, placing a comforting arm on his shoulder. “And, he can’t hide anywhere on the island. We’ll find him in the morning.”

Patting him, Patrick gave him a glass of gin.

“I need to take a walk,” Greg muttered and grabbing a rain coat that hung next to the front door walked out into the night, deaf to Lucy’s pleas of, “It’s too dark and it’ll start raining again!”

* * *

**Scene 19**

After walking for perhaps more than an hour, the cold was getting to him. Lestrade decided to go back when on a whim he took the lane that led to the Buccaneer's Inn.

Entering the inn Greg found an old man seated next to the fire and asked, “Did a tall man in a Belstaff coat take room tonight?”

“Eh?” the man asked, clearly half asleep. “You the guy for the single bedroom?” he asked, one hand behind his ear.

“No, I wanted to know ..”

“He’s in Room 4. Said you’ll pay the bill. Put the money on the counter,” the old man shouted, then settled back into the chair, dozing off immediately.

“That bastard,” Greg mumbled and took the stairs two at a time.

The room was at the end of the corridor. He knocked, waited for five seconds then grumbling, “What the Hell,” pushed open the door to the greeting, “You took your time. Shut the door and get into bed.”

“What do you think you’re doing running off like that after kissing a man lifeless!” Greg exclaimed as he shut the door firmly and walked over to the chair next to the bed, removing his clothes in a hurry. “And how do you expect us to fit on that!” he grumbled, waving to the single bed.

“Better than the pull out at the rectory,” Sherlock observed, hands resting above his head, stretched out gloriously.

Greg looked at the raised eyebrow and shook his head. ‘Not the eyebrow’ he thought, a Holmes trait that made his skin crawl.

Smiling cynically Sherlock rose to his knees and moved forward saying softly, “Come here.”

Greg was struggling with his socks, belt and trousers unhooked, shirt buttons open, revealing a faded vest, unknotted tie hanging around his neck, cuff buttons open. Looking down at his state, the Inspector sighted and moved forward to the end of the bed.

In ten seconds he was divested of his clothing and the Inspector stood only in his pants and vest. Looking down at his socks, he heard the Detective murmur, “Leave them on. It is really cold.”

* * *

####  **Scene 20**

Pulling Greg they toppled onto the bed, Greg exclaiming, “You’ll break it!”

“It’s sturdy,” Sherlock laughed out in Scottish accent, lips barely touching Greg’s.

“Hah,” Greg huffed and kissed the Detective soundly. “I’m too heavy for you,” he murmured while sucking on Sherlock’s lower lip, trying to move to his side.

“Mhmm,” Sherlock expressed his disapproval, hugging Greg tight, locking his legs around the Inspector’s hips.

“Oh, FUCK!” Greg moaned, grinding their hips together, while his lips sought the Detective’s, hands running through those curls, pulling them hard as his tongue delved deeper.

Sherlock, the obedient disciple, responded with equal measure, raising his hips, matching the rhythm.

“We need to take it slow,” Greg said between kisses, “Don’t want your first time to be ..” lost for words, the Inspector looked desperately into dark wide pupils rimmed by pale blue expectantly watching him.

“Flash-in-a-pan?” the Detective supplied, no humour or sarcasm, plain curiosity.

“Hmm,” Greg murmured, bending his head, resting his forehead on Sherlock’s shoulder, rubbing his nose on the pristine white shirt that was now rumpled.

“We have the whole night to start again,” Sherlock said in a soft tone, rubbing the Inspector’s back with his long fingers, listening to Greg breathing slow down.

“What are we doing?!” Greg asked, holding the Detective’s arms in a tight grip.

“Wasn’t that obvious?” Sherlock sounded perplexed.

Chuckling deeply, Greg raised his head and pecked Sherlock’s lips, then lost all control and resumed his previous fervour.

Pausing to catch his breath, Greg exhaled in satisfaction, when Sherlock said, “You are worried about after we get back to London.”

“That’s then, right,” Greg said, while running his thick forefinger along Sherlock’s jaw, then rubbing the swollen lower lip with his thumb, dark brown eyes mesmerised by the sight.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Greg get a good night's rest, that's all, nothing more, for now.

####  **Scene 21**

“Not having second thoughts, are you?” Sherlock asked conversationally, while running his hands under Greg's vest, fingers kneading the taut muscles of the Inspector’s back.

“Mmm,” Greg answered, his body appreciating the massage, hips moving on it’s own accord.

“Lie down,” the Detective ordered.

“What?” Greg opened his eyes looking totally lost.

Sherlock moved from underneath the DI and made him lie flat on his belly. Moving around, the Detective perched on the Inspector’s rump and pushed the vest up, pulling it over his head.

“Sherlock,” Greg said, his voice muffled by the pillow. The Inspector sank his head into the pillow, arms hugging it as Sherlock slowly and methodically massaged the Inspector’s back.

The soft snore made the Detective’s lips move silently. He continued the massage for some more time, then feeling cold, huddled next to the Inspector, pulling the sheet over them both. 

The knocking was persistent. Greg took a deep breath and stretched himself, answering, “Come in,” reflexively, then froze. Opening his eyes, he looked at the sleeping form next to him and the smile that dawned on his tired face was swiftly wiped away by the murmur, “Don’t sit there gawking. Answer the door. It’s locked, remember.”

* * *

####  **Scene 22**

The landlady stood holding a breakfast tray. “G’morn,” she greeted with a wide smile and said, “The rector’s worried sick. I had to tell ‘er you’re here. Hope you don’t mind,” while shoving the tray towards the Inspector.

Lost for words, Greg glumly nodded his head, caught the tray with both hands and stared as the burly lady closed the door.

“I cannot show my face now,” Greg mumbled while bringing the heavy tray to the coffee table and placing it carefully as the cup and saucer clanged ominously.

“Don’t tell me you’re not gay. I’ve heard enough of THAT from John,” Sherlock mumbled as he dug his head under the pillow and sighed audibly.

“Ouch!” the Detective yelled, pulling out his head and turning back to see Greg standing beside him. The Inspector had thrown away the covers and slapped Sherlock hard on his trouser clad bottom. “Oh you want it rough, Inspector?” Sherlock asked menacingly and pulled Greg hard, both toppling onto the crumpled sheets.

Kissing each other maddeningly, Sherlock joined Greg in getting his clothes off.

Down to his underpants Sherlock grabbed Greg’s waist and joined their hips while dipping his hands under Greg’s elastic.

Moaning out loud the Inspector bit Sherlock’s lip and rolled from his side to lie over the Detective. Planting his knees on the bed for leverage, Greg pushed hard while his hands looped from under his arms grabbing Sherlock’s shoulders.

Lost in the onslaught, the Detective had stilled his hands, as if paying attention to Greg’s methods. 

Removing the lower lip of the Detective that he had been sucking on Greg moved his head back a little and studied Sherlock’s face. “Don’t think too much. It doesn’t work like that,” he said, tilting his head to one side. Then pecking those red swollen lips, the Inspector rubbed his lips along Sherlock’s jaw to his ear, nipped the ear lobe and ran his tongue down the long neck, planting a sloppy kiss at the base of the neck.

Sherlock lay still, hands on his sides, not responding.

“What now?” Greg asked confused, looking up from his position on the Detective’s belly, hands on both sides, knees wide spread over Sherlock’s thighs.

* * *

####  **Scene 23**

“I haven’t washed,” Sherlock replied, matter-of-factly, his face stony calm.

Laughing hard, Greg buried his head in the Detective’s belly and let the tears roll till he could breathe normally.

“Maybe we should wash up and have breakfast?” he asked, looking up at the indignant face that was staring at him, head held up, neck veins standing out.

“You find it funny?” Sherlock asked, incredulously.

“No,” Greg mumbled, suppressing his mirth, “Just,” pausing for a word, covering the halt in the conversation with a kiss to Sherlock’s belly button, he continued, “touched.”

Looking up with a warm smile, the Inspector rose and held out his hand.

“The breakfast will get cold,” Sherlock mumbled, rising on his knees, hair ruffled, shirt crumpled, looking bright and sullen at the same time.

“You hungry?” Greg asked, concerned.

Looking at the Inspector with a curious smile, the Detective moved to the edge of the bed and lowered his feet to the ground asking surreptitiously, “What do you think?”

“Sherlock,” Greg addressed the Detective who had just embraced him lightly, the mop of curls brushing the Inspectors’ cheek as Sherlock rested his head on broad shoulders that were tense.

“You think this is uncharacteristic of me.” It was a statement of fact by the Detective.

“I’m not getting it, that’s all. Feels more like a dream,” Greg whispered as he ran one hand along the Detective’s spine, the other going to Sherlock’s neck and titling it slowly, searching those steely blue eyes that glowed with excitement. “Is this another one of your experiments?” he asked blandly.

“Does that matter?” Sherlock retorted, now offended, and stomped off to the en-suite. 

* * *

####  **Scene 24**

Looking back at the now cold breakfast, Greg sighed and ran a hand through his hair, slumping on the bed.

“Are you joining?'' The demanding tone from under the shower that was running in full force reached the Inspector’s ears, who smiled and shook his head, stripped his pants and socks, then swaggered off to join the Detective.

The shower was too small for the two of them. Sherlock’s head almost touched the shower-head and Greg kept hitting his elbow on the tiled wall.

Bruised and hungry, having lost the momentum of desire, Greg held Sherlock’s shoulders firmly for balance and mumbled, “Why don’t I towel dry and you join me for breakfast, hm?”

Greg could feel the piercing gaze of the Detective on his back as the water dripped from his body on the bathroom floor. Concentrating on the towelling, he quickly gathered the soiled towel and his clothes strewn on the floor. Placing them in the laundry basket, the Inspector looked around, wondering what he would wear.

The knock on the door made him grab a robe and hurriedly putting one arm through he moved to open the door. “Yes?” the Inspector answered while moving the other arm into the sleeve, not looking at the person standing outside.

“Thought you might need these?” Patrick’s controlled humour made Greg close his eyes while tying the sash of the bathrobe.

“Thank you,” he replied, glancing at the man who held out two bags with clothes.

A lame smile adorning his lips, the Inspector shut the door fast and dumped the bags on the floor. Straightening the collar of his robe, Lestrade settled on the chair next to the tele.

“Thought you would turn on the TV,” Sherlock commented as he walked out of the ensuite stark naked, steam ensuing from his body.

* * *

####  **Scene 25**

Looking up perplexed at first, Lestrade eyed the man head to toe with a critical eye, sighed, then patted his lap, beckoning the Detective with the other hand.

Narrowing his eyes, Sherlock pouted but acquiesced, draping his long legs over the Inspector’s, his left arm around Lestrade’s neck, right going to his chest.

Smiling felinely, Sherlock asked, “What’s on the menu?”

Laughing out loud, his belly shaking, Greg shook his head from side to side.

“Let us see, huh?” he said while opening the cloche.

_ {half an hour later} _

“Mm,” Sherlock hummed, licking the remnants of breadcrumbs from Lestrade’s lips, “Never realised eating could be interesting,” he said while shifting his body to plaster himself to the Inspector’s.

“That’s because you never had the right incentive,” Greg murmured, accommodating the Detective’s lanky body around him by sliding lower in the chair that creaked dangerously.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more instalment :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pain in the arse for a brother spoils the holiday, but not for long.  
> Happy ending, I promise.
> 
> A link for the cruiser has been added - not knowing which one to name.

####  **Scene 26**

Sherlock’s nimble fingers were already on the knot of the Inspector’s bathrobe, while his lips paid close attention to those sensitive ears.

“Oh, fuck Sherlock, we need more space,” Greg grunted out, his hips rising, trying to meet the Detective’s.

Pulling the Inspector along with him Sherlock tumbled to the carpeted floor.

Brain on overdrive, Greg plastered himself on the naked Detective and assaulted his lips, hands going to those wet curls, holding Sherlock in place.

Pushing his hips hard, he ground Sherlock into the carpet as his tongue duelled with the Detective’s. Moaning into Sherlock’s mouth as the Detective’s roaming fingers caressed his hip and moved lower, Greg had the foresight to flip them over.

Caught off-guard Sherlock stared at the Inspector open mouthed, lips red as rubies from Greg’s meticulous attention.

“You’ll get carpet burns,” the Inspector mumbled while licking Sherlock’s lower lip and gently sucking on it.

“Oh,” Sherlock responded and Greg kissed him deep, taking it as an invitation.

Sherlock’s long legs folded, knees firmly in place on both sides of Greg’s hips. “We need to get you out of this,” he murmured while pulling the Inspector up and disrobing his arms.

Impatiently Greg shook his hands free and engulfed the Detective in his arms, sighing in relief as their lips met again.

* * *

####  **Scene 27**

Just as they had gotten the rhythm back, a knock on the door made Greg cry out desperately, “Please God, not again,” burying his head on Sherlock's shoulder.

The Detective had stiffened on the first knock. Gently pushing Greg down, he covered the Inspector with the robe and whispered, “Stay there. I shall take care of this.”

Greg closed his eyes and covered them with his forearm, utterly exhausted.

Sherlock opened the door an inch and whispered, “What do you want?! Haven’t you a country to run or something?!” indignantly.

“The country is in dire need of it’s Inspector, brother mine,” the mocking tone of Mycroft was soft but carried into the room. Scrambling to put on the robe properly, Greg managed to grab one to cover Sherlock’s naked form that was hidden behind the door.

“Mycroft!” Greg greeted the government official pleasantly while shoving Sherlock out of the way. “What can I do for you?” the Inspector asked formally one hand holding the door half open while with the other he arm wrestled the Detective to stay behind the door.

* * *

####  **Scene 28**

_ [half an hour later on a helicopter to London] _

“Sir, the storm is blowing us off course. We may have to land in Wales,” the pilot informed Mycroft who sat sedately with both hands on his umbrella handle.

Greg looked at the brother seated next to him and tried to catch his eye. Sherlock sat huddled arms folded across his chest, chin buried into the coat, eyes closed, lips pouting.

The DI didn’t hear a reply and simply looked out at the lashing rain his mind numb.

The moment the helicopter landed Sherlock disappeared into the storm. Greg stood by, watching Mycroft instruct the pilot, hands deep in his raincoat pockets. The hood barely covered his head and the water trickled down, soaking his clothes.

“Let’s get you somewhere warm,” Mycroft shouted above the rain and the helicopter that whirred while taking off.

Dying to retort back, Greg bit his tongue and followed silently.

The Inspector was ensconced in a private hotel, while Mycroft disappeared. 

Greg took out his mobile and tried the Detective’s number.

**No answer**

Sighing, Greg threw himself on the bed, legs dangling from the edge, hands supporting the back of his head, eyes staring at the ceiling.

The click of the lock made Greg jump up from his listlessness. Staring at the cloaked figure slipping in, Greg smiled and slumped back on the bed, laughing as he spoke, “Oh, Mycroft will have my head for sure.”

“He’s flown to Scotland,” Sherlock sullenly remarked as he plopped on the bed next to the Inspector.

“Oh,” Greg answered and turned to his side, head resting on his folded left arm, moving his right hand to rub the Detective’s thigh, legs curling up on the bed.

* * *

####  **Scene - 29**

“Where did you disappear to? Thought you’d left for London,” Greg asked while shifting closer, palm affectionately moving over the clothed thigh.

“Went to buy lube and condoms,” was the Detective’s stony faced reply.

Laughing out loud, the Inspector grabbed hold of Sherlock by his arms and pulled him down.

Stretching himself over the Detective, Greg hushed the man who had begun explaining with a snog. “Do you think we may get time?” he asked, moving back, an elbow pressed into the mattress, holding him up, while he moved his left hand slowly over Sherlock’s lips. 

A pink tongue darted out and licked the tip of Greg’s finger. “If we are smart enough,” Sherlock smiled wickedly and tackled the Inspector who was now flat on his back.

Feline-like, the Detective climbed on top and with deft fingers began to undo Greg’s shirt buttons.

“He bought you clothes,” Sherlock observed, finger tips caressing the cloth.

Greg craned his neck to look down at his shirt, brown eyes questioning the statement.

“Means he is fond of you,” Sherlock murmured while unbuttoning them.

“Wait,” Greg spoke fast, holding Sherlock’s hand, “He may return any moment. Or I may have to go. Let us not hurry. I,” pausing Greg licked his lips and murmured, “Don’t think I can stand another interruption.”

“You are exhausted,” Sherlock remarked while slowly moving to a side. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, the Detective sat in contemplation.

Rubbing Sherlock’s back, Greg moved closer and hugged him at the waist. “It never was meant to be,” he remarked softly.

_ {some time later} _

Greg woke up to an empty room. It was twilight. Rising slowly he wondered what had woken him when the insistent knocking made him reply automatically, “Come in.”

“Your plane leaves in 15 minutes sir,” the bellhop handed him what looked like an airplane ticket and waited.

“Oh, ok,” Greg replied, taking the ticket in his right hand, his left going to his forehead, fingers running through his hair as he blankly walked out.

* * *

####  **Scene 30**

_{few weeks later}_

Greg sat at his desk going through a file Sally had placed there that morning. It was almost five in the evening and he just wanted to go home. The phone screen lit up, 

**Lucy calling ..**

The Inspector’s eyes lit up.

Answering the phone even before it rang with a warm, “Hello ..” he listened intently, nodded his head, licked his lips and replied, “Of course I’ll be there to give the bride away!”

It was more than a month since his trip to Scotland and Greg had settled into his dull routine. His absence had caused all Hell to break loose, Sally saying that they had even thought of dredging the Thames to look for him. Flattered by the staff’s enthusiasm, but unable to give a definite reason for his absence, the whole excitement had fizzled out.

_ [Scotland - the chapel - that weekend] _

“We’ve booked a room for you on board the [xxx](https://www.scottishcanals.co.uk/activities/holidays/boating-holidays/caledonian-canal/) cruiser,” Lucy laughed, patting Greg’s hand as she made her way with her husband upstairs.

The couple had decided to renew their vows and Greg gave the bride away in a small ceremony attended by only close friends. Smiling widely, the Inspector waved them goodbye and walked out of the chapel. Looking up at the clear sky, he sighed, his pink tongue rolling over his lips.

“Nice weekend for a cruise,” the baritone voice from behind him made Greg close his eyes, his cheeks glowing with delight.

“Oh You Devil!” Greg yelled while hugging the Detective hard.

#####  **_The End._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are too many inconsistencies - it is just a story; not beta read. Just imagine any place you like :)


End file.
